Sometimes The Name Makes All The Difference
by Vedra42
Summary: History would label Hermione Granger as the Brightest Witch of her Age, one third of the Golden Trio, war heroine in the Second Wizarding War against Voldemort, who one day disappeared. A minor historical figure easily overlooked by most and completely unknown to those outside of the World of Magic. Her real claim to fame would be an alias...
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes the Name Makes All the Difference

Summary: History would label Hermione Granger as the Brightest Witch of her Age, one third of the Golden Trio, war heroine in the Second Wizarding War against Voldemort, who one day disappeared.

A minor historical figure easily overlooked by most and completely unknown to those outside of the World of Magic. Her real claim to fame would be an alias every child in both worlds would one day know. A legend who's past was a mystery, but who helped save us all.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Terminator belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This story is written in a different style than my other stories. I hope you enjoy.

Ch.1

She became a war veteran before she even graduated.

She had survived a fight that had been building since she was in her fourth year.

She had bared witness to the defeat of an evil that had plagued her world since before she was born.

It was supposed to be over.

The time for a Golden Age had dawned. They could start rebuilding, usher in some real change, make sure that another war over bigotry wouldn't come about again. So many ideas, a world of possibilities lay at her feet.

Then it had been ripped away.

It was supposed to be a simple fact finding mission to the states. An easy task for the newly employed Unspeakable. Another unfounded rumor of someone trying to re-engineer a Timeturner, the secret having been lost when the Time Room had been so carelessly trashed back in fifth year.

Nothing of consequence.

She had been blind-sided.

Voldemort's Plan B.

The crash of glass reverberated as the duel destroyed everything in its path.

Hexes flying in a brilliant dance of color. The smell of ozone and blood. Sand thrown anywhere and everywhere. Gasping for air through the pain and inhaling time itself.

Searing light and heat ripped through the room. A storm of electricity.

Silence.

She was alone.

She was naked.

She had no wand.

Taking in her surroundings she found nothing, but an empty warehouse. Frozen she struggled to stand, her mind spinning. Nothing.

One breath. Another breath.

The world snapped back into focus in a rush of sensation.

She could feel a pain burning her thigh, warm blood running down the leg, creeping over her bare feet. The cold seeped into her slender frame as the rush of battle faded sending needles of pain slicing through her feet. A draft of wind could be heard cutting through the empty warehouse making her ears ache.

Cautiously she approached the door.

An alley.

A forlorn newspaper sat gently fluttering with the passing air currents.

Staring numbly time passed. Lights turned on and cars roared by. Absently she noticed that it was raining. The smells of the street crept into her nose. Wet cement, rotting garbage with an undertone of urine making the mix complete.

The down pour didn't relent, but she paid it no heed. Not when her hair was plastered to her head with water. Not when her blood began to mix with the puddle at her feet. Violent tremors racked through her thin frame under the onslaught of the elements. Her feet went numb with the cold, then her calves, but she ignored it. She kept her gaze locked onto the print before her as the ink began to run and the paper turned to mush.

January 10, 1984

It was January. The tenth. 1984.

Not thinking. Reacting.

She couldn't think. This was no time for her to have a mental breakdown right now.

That was almost funny. Time-

No. She would not do this, could not do this.

Barefoot and clothed in two empty trash bags she explored further.

No one.

Was she alone? Could she be alone? Did no one else come through?

Limping to the street she kept to the shadows. A car alarm sounded in the distance, a dog barked.

Life.

Moving slowly she chose a random direction. Avoiding stares and leers she kept moving forward, keeping out of the street lights, out of sight.

It would be foolish to be seen. She couldn't be seen. No one could be seen.

You know the laws Miss Granger you cannot be seen…

She just had to keep moving it wasn't a good idea to stop. Don't stop.

Her legs already felt shaky and weak.

Shaking with pain and exhaustion she stumbled her way up to a small corner petrol station. Locking herself into the bathroom she sunk onto the toilet gripping her injured leg as her limbs gave out beneath her. Blurry eyed she wet some toilet paper and dabbed at the wound to clean it before wrapping it up best as she could with bits of her makeshift cover.

Another shudder racked her frame. Gripping the side of the sink she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Something needed to be done.

She couldn't stay here.

If she stayed she'd never get back up. The exposure and blood loss would be her end.

And if someone found her-

Fighting through the shock she let her mind race to find a plan. Plans were good; plans would keep her focused, keep her moving.

Leaning against the doorframe for support she reconciled herself to waiting for the opportune moment.

A car pulled up and the driver got out entering the establishment. With jerky moves she stumbled over sliding in and turned the abandoned key. A yell, she slammed the accelerator.

Lurching away she just kept driving weaving through the streets searching, evading. In a fog of confusion the lights sped by making no impression on her mind.

Finally she found a promising place. Parking she didn't even switch off the ignition. A dental office, a crowbar later, an alarm blaring and she had supplies. More driving.

The world was tilting, too much blood loss. She found another alley to pull into.

An injection of drugs, thank you mom and dad, gauze, and stolen scrubs. Darkness was coming. She had to walk away.

Neon lights. A vacancy. Cash up front.

Oblivion.

Dawn.

Her dreams were in wreckage, her hopes dashed. Days rushed by, one bleeding into the next. Theories were made before promptly being discarded. Realization set in, she was trapped

The dust began to settle and she slowly began to make sense of the chaos.

On a cold night in some forgotten alley in the city of Los Angeles. Hermione Granger died. Lost to an accident of magic and time.

On a cold night in that same forgotten alley a woman with no identity or past was born. An ordinary girl looking to survive in the big city, unremarkable in every way.

A simple waitress named Sarah Connor.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter world or Terminator. Some dialogue borrowed from the movie Terminator.

Ch. 2

The diner was like any other around this country, characterized by an aroma of grease and coffee. Nothing that was served was could be mistaken as being even remotely healthy. Just continuous artery clogging fuel for the oblivious masses trying to get from one place to the next.

A trashy apartment shared with a woman met at work. Another waitress. Ginger, who hoped to be an actress one day.

Picking up shifts.

Covering when Ginger had a casting call. Helping to eat a pint of ice cream when she failed. Dragged to clubs to celebrate trivial success. Escaping the apartment when Matt, the boyfriend, stopped by so she wouldn't have to listen to the headboard slam against the bedroom wall or the moaning as they went at it. Taken to the movies on double dates with Matt's many friends in the hopes that she would loosen up.

New cloths, new style, new accent, new name, new time.

New wave.

Life moved on. Months ticked by.

Her melancholy slowly began to abate, it had to if she hoped to stay sane. She even found herself able to crack an occasional honest smile now and not the fake ones she had since perfected. Being trapped in the past was oddly freeing in some ways.

No expectations. No worries.

Just wait until time caught up with her again.

She could pursue long forgotten dreams, dismissed when her letter had arrived.

Become a dentist like her parents had always planned, become a doctor, a lawyer, a teacher, whatever she pleased. It wasn't what she had imagined or planned or fought for these past seven years, but it was all she could do. All that kept her from dwelling on what had been lost. Kept her distracted, kept her sane.

She took her GED and was already saving up for community college. She could make a life for herself and schoolwork like always would help her focus.

Ginger thought she was nuts.

Like, oh my God, why are you like wanting to waste your time, on like school? It's like so boring.

They were young and she let herself revel in it for once. Her once pale complexion tanned under the blistering California sun, her bushy hair was cut, bleached, and styled under Ginger's capable hands. She no longer resembled a refugee, having finally gained back the weight the war had stolen. A wardrobe of thrift store finds and she was a new woman.

She had to be.

She had to stay under the radar. Not get noticed, be normal, be ordinary. Stay hidden.

They could be out there waiting, planning. She had to stay alert.

It was just like any other day with laundry to do, bills to pay and a shift starting in a few minutes. Putting on the ghastly pink polyester uniform which often reminded her of what the toad-woman use to wear, will wear, she began her shift.

Coffee, pie, coffee, BLT, coffee, burger and fries, not chips, fries. More coffee. No wonder American's had so many health problems.

Keeping a smile plastered to her face she endured complaints, the spilt drinks and even the occasional pinch to her bum. The tips were lousy and her uniform was soon a mess after some brat put ice cream into the pocket thinking he was being funny. The lunch rush finally finished and she went to the backroom for a break despite protests from the manager.

Maybe she should start smoking like the rest of her, clueless about the possibilities of lung cancer, co-workers to get the man off her back.

With no warning two of said co-workers appeared and grabbed her hands shoving her back into the main room. Brought to the television the volume was cranked up.

"_Once again, Sarah Connor a 35-year old mother of two was brutally shot to death in her home this afternoon…"_

The mask fell into place. She laughed and brushed away the silly coincidence.

Movements became automatic she served her customers. Punching out, a quick change.

She ran.

Her mad dash threw her headlong down the street, breaking up crowds, cars slammed their breaks. She kept moving 4, 7, 11, 15, 22 blocks. Her limbs shook with the effort, her breath became labored, her shirt clung to her with sweat. Almost spent she stopped not able to go any further.

It couldn't have been a Death Eater, the woman had been shot.

No one knew where she was or even who she was. It couldn't have been wizards, she had stayed far away from their world not wanting to draw attention. It was something she couldn't risk, affecting her own personal timeline in some way. Plus it was just plain stupid to go around without any records this close after Voldemort's first fall, absent a bloody wand even if she wasn't in Europe.

No one was looking. No one even knew to look. She had checked for others who could have also traveled back. Made herself paranoid for weeks about the possibilities, but nothing. She was alone.

So who would want her dead?

It wasn't a coincidence.

It never was.

She needed to leave. Something was coming for her. Something unlike anything she had ever faced before, but first she needed a plan. Planning obviously being what she was good at. Think. Think-

She would need supplies. Her apartment was off-limits and all she had was her bag containing her uniform and the day's pitiful tips. It wouldn't get her too far.

Looking around nothing was familiar. The sun was setting. Needing to rest and think she walked into the first place she came across. The bar was already packed, but she managed to secure a table by herself and ordered a glass of water.

Glancing around the bar she couldn't see anyone out of place. She was safe for the moment. Think. She needed to think. Where would she go? What should she do?

The flickering of the television in the corner caught her eye.

"_This just in the police have announced the names of the second of two execution style murders which took place today. Incredibly the names of the two victims are virtually identical. Two hours ago 35-year old Sarah Anne Conor was pronounced dead at the scene in her Santa Monica apartment. Sarah Elois Connor was slain earlier today in her home. Now police are refusing to speculate on the apparent similarities between these shooting deaths and no other connection between the two victims has been established as of yet. We'll have more on this late breaking story as it comes in."_

Another gone. How many more?

What was going on?

A phonebook was hanging by the payphone. With trembling fingers she passed the Clappers, the Clarks, the Collins down to the Connors. Not Sarah Anne or Sarah Eloise.

Connor, Sarah J 309 Calder Cayon Drive.

She was the next one, the last one listed, but she was safe. Would be safe as long as she didn't go back to the apartment.

The apartment, that Ginger was at by herself, waiting for Matt to drop in.

A single woman in the apartment of Sarah Connor. An easy target. Whatever was happening her face must be unknown, otherwise the others wouldn't be dead.

At least she hoped so.

Not dwelling on that thought she used the payphone in the back of the establishment to call home. She wouldn't let another person die for her.

It rang.

The message machine clicked on.

"Ginger? Ginger are you there? It's Sarah. You need to leave the apartment. I can't explain, but you're in danger. You need to get out of there. Answer me. Take off your blasted headphones for once! Please answer me, Ginger! Get out, run just Run!"

No answer.

She only let herself be paralyzed with indecision for a moment before she left the bar. She had to take the risk.

She was a bloody Gryffidor after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter world or Terminator. Some dialogue borrowed from the movie Terminator.

Ch. 3

A bus ride back to her neighborhood. A three block walk through the back alleys. Home or at least the closest thing she had come across since she had found herself having to relive the 80s. The crappy, cramped little two bedroom she shared with a woman who despite all her faults had become a friend.

The street was silent and no one was around. Carefully she snuck toward the window, peering in. A faint light played across the broken glass.

Blood. So much blood.

She was too late.

For a split second a wave of emotion coursed through her and she bit down on her lip to keep her cry of anguish. It wasn't the time. It was never the time. Never her time.

A faint breeze of movement and she was gripped from behind. A hand slammed over her mouth holding in the shriek. The figure dragged her backward toward a waiting car. Struggling against the grip. Biting to draw blood.

A foot was aimed at the knee and connected. Crashing to the ground she managed to release a scream.

She wouldn't be taken down easily.

Glass shattered and the drywall crumbled in a rain of destruction. A looming figure emerged from the apartment raising a gun. She saw red as the laser found its mark.

A boom of gunfire echoed from behind her and the figure staggered, but kept moving forward. More shots rang out. It fell.

A strong grip on her arm hauled her up.

A proclamation was spoken into her ear. "Come with me if you want to live."

Throwing herself into the car she had previously tried to escape. The engine roared to life and they were flying.

More gunfire.

They wove through the traffic. In and out, in and out. Faster. Shots. Being slammed against the door with every turn. The pedal was floored.

Demands were made. For information, for obedience. She didn't argue.

"Are you injured?"

"Are you shot?"

"Do exactly what I say."

And then an explanation.

Judgement Day.

The end of the world. Nuclear war with machines ruling. Skynet, Terminators, and work camps. Death everywhere. No hope.

"But there was one man who taught us to fight the storm the wire of the camps to smash the metal into junk. He turned it around brought us back from the brink. His name is Connor. John, Connor your son Sarah. Your unborn son."

John, named after her grandfather. No not her grandfather Hermione's grandfather. She was Sarah now.

Not Hermione.

Sarah.

As amazing as Reese's story was she was stuck on that fact. She never went back to her old life, her old world. He called her Sarah.

Sarah for her sweet caring mother who she would never see again. Connor for her father the man who would never pick her up and call her his baby-girl again. It had been a possibility she had refused to consider. Time was supposed to catch up and she could be herself again, be with her friends again. Finally fix things with her parents who still resented her for messing with their minds.

A parking garage and a change of cars. It found them. Another chase. Sirens and the police arrived. A crash. The cops surrounded them.

He was ready to shot them all to get away. Thinking quickly she grabbed his arm and gave the solider a command.

"Stop! They will kill you. Listen. You are my boyfriend who I knew owned a gun. I was scared to go home alone so you came with me to my apartment and we surprised the killer. We ran and he chased us. Don't mention anything about the future!"

The doors were open and the police dragged them out. She protested, but Reese was handcuffed and roughly shoved into the back of a cruiser while she was allowed to ride shotgun with the concerned officer.

In a stationhouse in serious need of repair the detectives questioned them.

Condolences, coffee, and tissue was handed to her. The poor victim.

Reese was placed in interrogation and searched for more weapons. They discussed if charges should be brought up.

She paced. They had to get out of there. Their stories wouldn't stand up to scrutiny. Time was running out. It would find them. The machine from the future, the monster.

No she didn't know why someone was after her, officer. No, she didn't need to look through mug shots, it was dark and she didn't get to see his face that well. No there wasn't anyone they could call for her. Couldn't they do this all in the morning?

She tried tears, anger and begging. All were ignored. They still had more questions.

Her ideas of a breakout went unrealized, she didn't know how to pick a lock without magic. Reese would just want to shoot his way out.

They finally got around to running a background check her hastily acquired ID from several months before wouldn't stand up to. Cold steal bit into her wrists as she was thrown into interrogation as well. Promised of protection were made to tell the truth.

Reese talked of the future. She kept her silence. A shrink was being brought in.

The inevitable.

A loud crash of cement, glass and wood. The building quaked with the impact. A body slam by Reese and a guard was disabled. Keys were obtained. Guns stolen.

They fled.

The lights of the city faded behind. The nights grew darker. They ditched the car and hid under a freeway overpass. It wasn't the first time she had slept out on the streets.

They needed rest.

It was far from over. It would come for them. The Terminator who wanted her dead not for being a muggleborn witch or Harry Potter's friend, but because she would give birth to a child with a destiny. Just like Lilly had.

Would she have to die too?

Cars rushed by on their way home adrenalin began to abate. The damped seeped into her bones and she shivered. A jacket was placed on her shoulders. Then she noticed the blood.

A field dressing using the ugly sticky pink uniform which had still been in her bag.

Now was the time for more questions to be answered.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter world or Terminator. Some dialogue borrowed from the movie Terminator.

Ch. 4

He had volunteered.

Why?

"The chance to meet the legend. Sarah Connor. Taught her son to fight, organize, prepare from when he was a kid. When you were in hiding before the war…"

He was looking at her waiting for a reaction, she gave none.

She wasn't some innocently clueless woman like he was probably expecting. She hadn't been for a long time.

There was a time that she would have protested his claims not believing that she could be the person he was looking for. Words like destiny and fate had no place in her life. Then she met a boy who had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Harry had lost much of his childhood being prepared for a war all because a madman's belief in a prophecy. She had stood by his side, protected and prepared him for that final confrontation.

Now she was being told she would be doing it all over again only this time it would be her own child that she would be sending off to war. Her son.

She would teach him to be a perfect solider, a leader, a hero.

What kind of mother did that make her?

And she would have to do it alone. Reese had said the father would be long gone. She would be alone. Again.

Sensing her despair Reese gave her a message from John.

Her son.

"_Thank you Sarah for your courage through the dark years. I can't help you with what you must soon face except to say the future is not set. You must be stronger than you can image you can be. You must survive or I will never exist."_

And she would survive. She had to. It was what she always did. She wouldn't let him down. Couldn't let him down.

She began to question Reese about the future, grilled him for every possible fact he could provide, she needed to prepare. He answered everything he could, sparing no details until she couldn't think of anything more to ask.

It was then his turn to then ask a question.

"Why did the detective think your name wasn't Sarah?"

The idea of spinning a tale about expired visas and ex-boyfriend was discarded without thought, he could be trusted. Her voice lost the Midwestern speech patterns she had so carefully cultivated and took on the old tenor of her home across the pond. She told him a fairytale, of a world of magic and adventure. She told him about Hermione Granger, Voldemort, and falling through time.

He didn't think she was crazy, he didn't require proof, he believed her. Believed in her. It felt nice not to have to defend herself for once. So nice.

Night faded into day and she slept. Nightmares of machines haunted her thoughts.

Morning.

Cramped limbs were unfolded and they hiked back to the road. Grabbing the attention of a passing truck they hitch-hiked into a town with no name. A quick trip to the hardware store with money Reese had procured and they had supplies.

The motel was cheap.

They needed a plan. Somehow it would eventually find them. It would always find them. It was what they were programed to do. Seek and destroy.

He taught her how to make pipe bombs.

She called him Kyle and they showed each other their past scars. She loved him, she didn't know how it happened, but she let him into her heart. He wasn't who she had expected, but he fit her, made her whole again.

Soft whispers, caresses, tangled limbs. The squeaking mattress. A perfect moment.

Night fell and they waited. It was coming hunting. A dog barked.

The exploding sound of gunfire tore through the room. They were not there.

The car was stolen. Jostled to and fro Kyle floored the pedal speeding away.

One after another the bombs were thrown out to stop the motorcycle in pursuit. Through broken roads. Through a tunnel. Gunfire. Slammed against the dashboard they slide, a tire was blown out.

Another explosion missed the mark and the windshield exploded with the impact in a spray at bullets. It was coming. Faster turns, accelerated turns. They both lost control.

Two flips had them landing on the roof. Glass shattered and fire began to lick at her legs as the gas tank burst into flames. She crawled across the ground to release her trapped companion.

Heavy footfalls sounded crushing the glass and metal littering the street. They staggered away. Another pipe bomb and an overturned oil truck. He pushed her to the ground and heat raged behind them blistering in its intensity.

Nothing .

It was over.

They were safe.

An embrace, stopped by a noise. Its human form charred away and blazing red eyes sought her out. It lurched forward. Never wavering. Never stopping.

Death was approaching.

He grabbed her wrist in a bruising grip yanking her back to reality. Hobbled by injuries they couldn't run, but stumble toward the factory. It continued its slow methodical pursuit.

Machines activated, clanking and grinding all around. Feet slammed against metal grates. Adrenaline pumping they ducked for cover and kept running. Confused she clung to Kyle.

They were cornered.

He told her to run and faced it alone.

The trap was sprung and they both fell.

He was dead before he hit the floor. She cried over the body, demanded that the solider follow her orders and get up. We wouldn't respond, he would never respond again, he was gone.

Blinding pain crashed into her leg. The twisted pile of metal was still alive.

Rage shot through her. Why couldn't it just die already? She fought against the metal monster, kicking and screaming. Freed she crawled across the grate on her stomach not even noticing as its jagged edged tore into her flesh. The thing kept coming.

Pumps moved and the hydraulic system repeated its motions. With inches to spare it was finally crushed.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter world or Terminator. Some dialogue borrowed from the movie Terminator.

A/N: This is the last chapter of the story and I hope that you all have enjoyed it. There will be a sequel I will begin posting next week to follow the events of the second movie. For those of you who read me Stargate/HP series I am still looking for a beta and ask that if anyone is interested to please contact me.

Ch. 5

Red and white lights flashed in the distance. She was too tired to run and slowly sunk to her knees. Vomit spilled across the ground as she heaved. As her body began to crash without the adrenaline to keep her functioning sobs racked through her frame. Covered in the blood of her lover she waited.

The cops had questions she ignored. The paramedics pushed them aside and explained she was in shock.

Tears pooled out of her eyes as she began laughing. It was all too much.

Shock. Of course she was shocked.

They whispered of psychological trauma and that someone would see her at the hospital. Lifted onto a gurney she caught one last glance at the factory and spotted the body bag being carried out. Silence fell as her eyes stayed rooted on the black canvas.

He was gone. The one person she had really connected to since arriving in this time.

It hurt. She couldn't breathe. Curled on her side she began to shake before passing out.

Time passed and she recovered and answered the questions the cops had. No truth just the lies they wanted to hear. No one asked about her fake ID, the records had been lost at the station during the massacre. A Dr. Siberman came to analyze her mental health. He left her alone after she insulted his pathetic attempt at compassion.

They released her with nowhere to go except back to an apartment with her friend still splattered across the living-room walls. A bucket and sponge was used as she wondered and let her mind come up with a strategy.

Three days later she attended Ginger's funeral. No one spoke to her. She quietly stood at the back of the service trying not to think about how many of these she had already attended in her short life, and how many were more she might still face.

The slap came out of nowhere sharp and piercing. She was to blame for their precious baby girl's death.

Kyle was buried in an unmarked grave she paid for after claiming it from the city. No prayers were offered, no one else came. She stayed there all day lying on the freshly packed Earth and whispered her goodbyes.

Time slipped by.

The stick turned blue and she wept.

It had started.

The city of Los Angeles would be forever tainted by the spill of blood. The place where her life had once again been ripped apart and destroyed. She could no longer deny that she could have a normal life. It was time to leave.

Once again she would be on the run. It was something she was rather good at.

With a heavy heart she packed up a jeep and headed south. A dog and a gun her only friends. A book on basic Spanish to occupy her thoughts. Searching for instructors to teach her the skills to survive.

Her stomach began to expand and she felt the first stirring of life. He was real.

Love flowed through her for that little innocent life resting in her womb. She would protect him to her dying breath, and she knew she would kill for him. She had already helped destroy a person's soul, she knew she could end a life.

With that final conviction the last traces of Hermione Granger, crusader of the innocent, were banished for, Sarah Connor, the warrior, the mother.

She began to record tapes for John.

Would she tell him about his father? It would be hard to take, but if there was one thing she had learned from Dumbledoor was that it was better to tell the truth than keep information hidden. He needed to know.

A picture was taken and a warning given.

"A storm is coming."

They had no idea.

She dreamed of the end. The day the bombs would fall. The world becoming scorched and nuclear winter chocking out the sun.

She soldiered on.

An able student she absorbed all that there was to be learned. Guns. Explosives. Hand to hand. Guerilla warfare. Tracking. Hunting.

Surviving.

In the middle of the sweltering jungle surrounded by enemies her waters broke. Thirteen hours latter John Connor came screaming into the world.

Miles away in a dreary castle somewhere in Scotland a bespectaded woman wearing ridiculous purple robes, stopped in her morning routine. A harsh voice tore out of her throat heard by no one, but the empty room.

_A choice has been made, the warrior has arrived._

_Out of time out of place, she will raise him for his fate._

_ An enemy unexpected, one the world has never seen_

_ Rises from the minds of men to bring us to a terrible end._

_ Judgment Day, will leave none to perpetuate the centuries of hate_

_ A new era will dawn and the survivors will bond._

_ Born to lead, his success assured as long as he survives to that date_

_ From one war she stepped into another, the guardian of the chosen_

_ A mother's love will shield him from abominations near and far_

_ Magic's time has come and gone, too much death has condemned it_

_ Look outside to those who have changed, for the key to fight_

_ The warrior has arrived and mankind shall be tested._

In a house on the outskirts of London a young girl of six tossed and turned in her sleep. Visions of magic and machines haunting her sleep.


End file.
